Darkness On the Face of the Void
by Jesse Cullen
Summary: "Let's go take a howl at that moon." Before they can do that Crowley wants to find out just what it is that Dean's become and if he'll like what he finds. Post S9 finale.


For an endless second Crowley sat, crouched by Dean's bed, watching as new life overtook the hunter. He felt a surge of triumph and pride when he saw the wide, inky black orbs that had replaced Dean's normally glass green eyes. Victory was his favorite thing about eternal life and given that he'd been having it sparingly in recent years this latest accomplishment was something he had absolutely no shame in gloating over...not that he had ever felt much shame in anything.

Dean looked around, his black eyes searching the room in the first shock of his resurrection. The second he saw Crowley, crouched protectively by the bed, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"Don't fret Squirrel," Crowley said, rising to a standing position and circling the bed so that he could stand closer to Dean. "You've got a new life ahead of you...bound to be a bit soul-lagged when you rub the sleep out of your eyes." Dean cocked his head to the side, his eyes, blacked over as ever, still not leaving the demon before him. Crowley chuckled at the sheer incomprehension on Dean's face. "Must say it's nice to see you all dazed and confused instead of being all high and mighty. Pleasant change really."

Slowly, Dean sat up, his eyes still fixed on Crowley, who allowed himself a brief moment of worry. Not for Dean of course, but for his whole cosmic plan. He was sure he'd had everything laid out, just as it had been before with Cain...Crowley of course had only had the story of the first murderer from hearsay, having never witnessed it firsthand. Had the original sinner been this surprised when he'd been given his second chance?

"Oh bugger," Crowley hissed. "You better not have gotten damaged in the soul transport. This doesn't exactly come with a proof of purchase and there's not a chance in any hell that I'm going to anyone in the cosmic customer service department to get you put back together all proper and new." He glared at Dean who was still looking at him with curious confusion, his shirt still stained with blood, his face still etched with cuts. Beyond the soulless eyes there was no indication of recognition or even intelligence.

"What a bloody letdown," Crowley muttered in frustration. He made to turn away, thinking that he would just as well vaporize the first living thing he saw on leaving the bunker just to let off some steam when, with speed he had not possessed in his original life, Dean's hand flew out and seized him by the front of his suit. The Lord of Hell barely had time to yelp before Dean flung him across the room and into his bookcase, sending shelves and knick-knacks crashing down.

More stunned than pained, Crowley blinked, shifting in the rubble of the wood and picture frames and books to stare up at Dean, who had pushed himself off the bed and was now standing over him, his face contorted with rage. "Dearie me," Crowley said with a soft chuckle, "now this is more like it isn't it eh Squirrel? You had me worried for a-" He was cut off when Dean lunged at him, grasping him by the throat in a vice like grip. With little effort Dean lifted Crowley off the floor, his hands tightening around his neck. Crowley spluttered and gasped, attempting to catch his breath as Dean continued to squeeze, harder than he should have ever been able to...stronger than even a demon.

Crowley wasn't used to pain, at least not on such a primal level. And he didn't at all like his creation turning on him like this. His feet were barely scraping the floor and with a snarl Crowley kicked Dean square in the gut with full demonic force. The former hunter was sent flying backwards, his fingers digging through Crowley's flesh as he sailed through the air. The demon king hissed, staggering at the stinging pain but quickly recovered himself.

Dean collided with the opposite wall and slid to the floor. Before he could move Crowley waved a careless, black blood covered hand. Dean went rigid and his body was lifted gently off the floor, hovering in mid-air, his neck arched, his black eyes staring mulishly at Crowley as the demon king approached him slowly.

"There we go," Crowley said jovially, "much more to my tastes. Now then, I know you're more than likely a little bebothered by the change. Guess I should have been a bit slow in introducing it to your system but what can I say Deano? Patience was never my strong suit." He grunted, rubbing a hand over his sore neck and added, "Neither was forgiveness...but seeing as your in a state I'll let this one slide."

Dean let out a choking, strangled noise, his teeth grinding together as he glared at Crowley who paused in his slow, predatory circling of the hunter and cocked his head to the side. "Didn't quite catch that there Peaches. You'll have to speak up. The hearing's a bit off in the old age you know."

"Wh...what...did you do..."

"Ah there we go! He can speak!" Crowley said, clapping his hand together. "As to the answer to that...well I don't rightly know myself." He grinned at the very prospect of the success of his little experiment and added, "That's the beauty of it really. You're still the same old Squirrel, least if those ugly looks are any indicator, but you're sort of a brand new species of squirrel...or would a butterfly be the appropriate term here?"

"Don't feel...like a butterfly," Dean said through his gritted teeth.

"Well whatever you are," Crowley said with a grin, "it's going to be a hell of a ride figuring it out won't it?"

"Let me down," Dean growled.

Crowley shook his head. "Now now. We've been through this...many times before in fact. You can't be trusted. Just because I gave you the keys doesn't entitle you to take the car out for a joyride Dean. I need to know how you're going to drive after all." For a moment he simply stood there, surveying Dean, suspended in the air, his face still etched with rage.

"But," Crowley added after a moment, "I suppose there's no sense keeping you like this, fun for me as it is. Won't get me what I want." He smirked and, with the tiniest crook of his finger, sent Dean flying through the air, stopping him just as he was over the bed. Slowly, Dean was lowered onto the mattress, his limbs free of the invisible bonds Crowley had bound them with and yet, as Crowley walked calmly towards him, he still could not move his body off the bed as much as he squirmed and tried to wriggle off the covers.

"I'm not that selfish though," Crowley added, climbing onto the mattress and siting astride Dean whose obsidian eyes widened in surprise as he felt the Lord of Hell straddle him. "You need to figure out how to work all those yummy dark parts now. So go ahead Squirrel...spill. And maybe Uncle Crowley will help you figure out how to drive your new car after all."

"N-not telling," Dean said. He shifted desperately under Crowley's body and the demon lord let out a laugh. Even in this state the Winchester was still highly uncomfortable being in such close contact with him, which of course only served to please Crowley all the more. If there was one thing he enjoyed it was seeing Dean flustered, although he did find it a bit of a pity that instead of wide green eyes darting to and fro in embarrassed rage all he could see were the dark expanses staring up at him in wide-eyed disbelief.

"Really not the way to go about it there Dean," Crowley told the hunter softly, spreading his legs ever so slightly on top of the hunter who let out a choked, gargling gasp, either of pleasure or anger the archdemon didn't know but he couldn't have cared less. Having every sinewy inch of Dean pinned under him this way was proving to be highly entertaining...and incredibly arousing.

"Now I get that you're scared," Crowley went on, dipping his head so that his lips were right next to Dean's ear and speaking in a whisper that made the writhing body beneath him shudder deliciously. "You've got all this new stuff inside of you, moving around and making your insides-maybe even things farther within you than them-burn and charge. And I put that in you." He gave an affected little sigh and added, "I feel responsible. I'm here to guide you through it Squirrel...whether you want it or not. So get those pretty lips of yours moving and tell me what's making you tick right now...or do I need to give you something to make you open your mouth?"

He ground into Dean, letting the euphemism and his body language do all the talking and to his immense satisfaction the other man let out a deep groan, squeezing his eyes shut. Supine beneath him, Dean was completely at Crowley's mercy and the Lord of Hell was more than willing to wait as long as it took for the hunter turned just whatever in the world Dean was now, to answer.

For a moment Dean lay there, his head turned and eyes shut, breathing as if he'd run a marathon. Trapped beneath Crowley, who was thoroughly enjoying being on top of his creation there was really nothing else the hunter could do besides be completely compliant and Crowley knew that it wouldn't take long. As curious as he was about what he'd turned the older Winchester into he knew full well that Dean was burning with questions even more.

Finally, after what seemed ages of heartbeats and body heat Dean opened his eyes and looked Crowley square in the face. Crowley saw with a strange, almost nostalgic sense of recognition that here once more was the typical puppy dog Dean, the hurt and frightfully alone Dean who was scared of everything deep down, albeit it a puppy dog with eyes blacker than a barrel of tar. He felt in the pit of the blackness of his being a rushing, searching tenderness for the hunter who had been both a thorn in his side and boon to his cause all these years. There was history between them, a spark...he couldn't just let Dean suffer too much, not after he'd taken the Mark like such a trooper.

"It's alright poppet," Crowley whispered to him softly, running a hand gently along Dean's stubbly, cut ridden jaw. "Therapy 101...explore what you're feeling and the answers will come and all that garbage. Personally you and the moose could have done with some serious therapy years ago...around third grade for you if you want to be precise."

Dean swallowed, not shrinking away from Crowley's touch this time as the demon king's hand ran from his jaw to his blood soaked chest, rubbing up in down in smooth, therapeutic circles.

"It's...darkness..." He said slowly, painfully.

"In you, you mean?"

Dean nodded. "I want...I want to hurt...to cause pain and...and do evil...to everything...anything."

Crowley closed his eyes and resisted the urge to smirk with great difficulty but he wasn't about to let himself get away with thinking that he had finally gotten what he wanted out of this. Although really when he thought about it there was no sense in denying his triumph, but nevertheless he liked covering all his bases. "You've had darkness before honeysuckle. Nothing new to you is it?"

"But this...not like this," Dean whispered, tilting his neck back as Crowley ran his hand further down his torso, inching up under the hem of his soaked and stained t-shirt. He was remarkably and uncharacteristically compliant, not that Crowley was about to complain. That in itself was a monumental change. To his surprise Dean's skin was hot, feverishly hot beneath his fingers. Demons ran a temperature yes but this...this was quite literally hot as hell.

"What do you mean love?" Crowley whispered. He hadn't meant to let the endearment slip and yet he wasn't remotely ashamed. Here he was, astride what could very well be a living crucible of the power of Heaven and Hell, something that Crowley had directly made come into existence. Dean, like this, so full of power and potential was really the most beautiful thing he had laid his evil eyes on.

Dean took a deep, steady breath and when he spoke next Crowley literally felt a chill creep up the surface of his skin. Dean's voice was comprised of a multitude of emotions, layers upon layers of feeling and suggestion and it both turned Crowley on and made him, for the first time in quite a very long time, a little afraid.

"I like it," Dean said. "I want it. I want to hurt, to destroy, to have things I shouldn't...I need it. I'm...I'm hungry for it."

"And tell me Squirrel," Crowley said, gathering his composure as he continued to smooth his hand over Dean's fiery skin, "does that scare you?"

Dean looked up at him and grinned, a grin full of malice and raw, primal desire. That, coupled with his jet eyes made him look the very picture of a demon, but Crowley was wiser than that. Dean wasn't a demon. He was beyond that, above it, better than it...far more perfect than the petty, blindly evil imps who just did evil for evil's sake. It was a necessity for Dean, a drive...Crowley wasn't even sure Cain had ever been like this when he had been reborn, brief as that had been.

"I'm not afraid," Dean said, his voice even. Then, all it once, his breathing become fevered and he strained at the intangible force keeping him on the bed. "Please!" He begged and Crowley felt another jolt ripple through him. He had Dean Winchester begging. Moreover he had a powerful, carnally thirsty Dean Winchester pinned underneath him, squirming and begging. "I need it Crowley!"

The Lord of Hell looked down at his creation, at the beautiful, terrible thing that he had made out of Dean Winchester. He smiled, withdrew his hand from underneath Dean's t-shirt and, giving the former hunter a quick kiss on the forehead, quickly swung off the bed and turned away. Dean gave a snarl of fury and struggled against the force keeping him pinned, making Crowley smile as he watched the savage rage that his moment of denial had caused in the other man.

"Temper temper," he chided Dean softly. "If you'll be so good as to stop your thrashing and just turn this way for a moment...there's a good boy." Obediently Dean looked his way, keeping his black eyes fixed on Crowley who stood at the foot of the bed, looking down at the hunter with a smirk of satisfaction on his face. He, Crowley had done this...he had made Dean this way whether inadvertently or otherwise. He hadn't known what to expect when Dean had taken the Mark and to say he was pleased would be an understatement. But still...he had to make sure, to make absolutely sure and goddamn if having had Dean writhing underneath him hadn't given him the mother lode of all hard-ons.

"You want it Squirrel?" He asked quietly, bracing his hands on the side of the frame, looking down at the beautiful creature on the bed.

"You know I do!" Dean said through gritted teeth.

"And you promise you won't look back?"

"Yes! Anything, please!"

Crowley arched a brow, amused at this earnest response. He was using every modicum of self control not to go right for the kill. But still he had to make sure, to make completely sure...and there was still one pesky, tall, shaggy haired, mopey wild card that he had left to cover.

"Not even for your brother?" Crowley asked, his voice deadly low, his eyes pinning Dean as much as the invisible force hovering over him was. "Not even for your precious baby Sammy?"

Dean glared back at him and in that emptiness, in that vast ocean of black Crowley could see his answer. There was no flicker of recognition at the mention of his brother's name, no hint of any trepidation upon hearing Dean's usual special endearment for the one thing he'd gone to hell and back over. Crowley smiled. He had Dean now, this perfect, powerful new Dean.

"Well then..." And with a snap of his fingers his suit and Dean's blood soaked t-shirt and scruffy jeans disappeared, leaving them both exposed to one another. "How bout we take this baby out for joy ride Squirrel?"


End file.
